Responders

By george gardner

Published on Mar 9, 2007

Gay

Disclaimer: The following story is a work of fiction. Certain characters are based loosely on people known to the author, other similarities to actual persons, places, and events are purely coincidental. This story also includes graphic homosexual acts, some by minors. If this material offends you or is illegal in your area please stop now. The name Aquatic Rescue Response has been used with permission of Aquatic Rescue Response of Maine. Thank you.

On the off chance that everyone thinks this chapter is not up to the same standards as the previous twelve, I've decided to add this. I no longer have the same person proof reading my chapters and this particular one I wrote in less then one night. Hope you enjoy it.

Chapter Thirteen: Trouble Brewing

Brad walked across the parking lot of the supermarket slow; cautious; watching. His normal carefree trip for groceries had been going just fine until he had, not paying attention, walked his cart into a guy in the frozen foods section. The guy had reacted completely out of the normal expectations of how someone should. Brad had been courteous and apologized. The guy, on the other hand, had completely lost his temper.

Watch where the fuck you're going, you fag!!!

Sorry, I just wasn't looking.

You want me to kick your ass, fucking queer!?!

Whatever! Brad thought, and walked away. Seeing the guy glaring at him from behind a display as Brad was being rung out by the cashier, he knew it wasn't over. That is why Brad was now at his heightened state of alert.

Hoping he was in the clear when he didn't see the guy in the parking lot, Brad loaded the groceries into the back of his truck, put the cart back in the corral, and then returned to climb in. Just after Brad unlocked the door, he sensed someone close behind him. Brad opened the door fully so as to have access to the cab then turned to see who was approaching. Of course, Brad had hoped it was someone he knew but was not at all surprised to see it was his new friend from frozen foods. The guy looked like he had spent most of his life behind bars, most of that at the weight pile no less. Six foot four at least and easily two hundred eighty pounds, the guy had Brad by about seventy pounds and four inches of height. Tagging along behind were two equally muscle bound gorillas of men. Doing a quick threat assessment, Brad knew he was far out manned. He took a single step back, centering himself in the open door. Gorilla one and two, as he decided to call them, stopped on the other side of the open parking spot next to Brad's truck, while UMF, short for Ugly Mother Fucker, came up just out of arms reach. Getting into the truck and just driving off had not been an option; construction at the parking lot exit had traffic at a stand still.

You want to run into me now, faggot? Huh?

Look, it was a simple accident, I wasn't watching where I was going, and walked into you. No one was hurt; no harm no foul, right?

No, no, you're foul, you pansy. I think you need your ass kicked. You'd like that, wouldn't you, you cock sucker?

Come on, I apologized and it wasn't on purpose anyway. I don't want any trouble.

Trouble, you don't want trouble? You should have thought of that before you ran into me, Mary. Why don't you start by giving me your wallet, huh?

With that, UMF and the two gorillas pulled out knives. Just by the way the men held the knives Brad knew they had never had any formal training, but their stances and grip showed that they had fought before, making the potentially more dangerous then a professional. This just confirmed Brad's assessment that these guys had been guests of the penal system. Three against one isn't a fair fight in anyone's book, but then again, a fight isn't supposed to be fair; and Brad was a firm believer that although God created all men, Colonel Sam Colt had made all men equal. With what easily could have started as a twitch landed Brad's foot squarely on UMF's chest. Unfortunately, running sneakers are not as effective in this maneuver as combat boots, but it gave Brad the space he needed to reach under the center arm rest on the seat of the truck, grab what was there, and push the red distress button on the mobile radio on his way back out. UMF had recovered from the kick and was advancing again, with the gorillas not far behind. By this time, in Brad's mind the men had gone from street punks to domestic terrorists, albeit small scale, but terrorists (tangos, for those in the know) none the less.

NO ONE MOVES! OR EVERYONE DIES!

Brad roared, loud and clear, sounding like a military drill instructor. The three tangos froze, gorilla one and two a single step behind UMF, whose nose was no more then an inch away from the gapping hole that was the business end of the barrel on Brad's 1911A1 .45 ACP combat pistol.

DROP THE KNIVES! STEP BACK AWAY FROM THE KNIVES!

Two knives hit the ground immediately, gorilla two hesitated for just a moment, as if deciding to try anything and must have thought better of it, he too complied with the armed, ex-SEAL's orders. The radio in Brad's truck squawked something that was not clearly heard by any of the four men.

LOCK YOUR FINGERS TOGETHER ABOVE YOUR HEADS! DROP TO YOUR KNEES! HOOK YOU RIGHT ANKLE BEHIND YOUR LEFT KNEE! FALL FORWARD! DON'T CATCH YOURSELVES! NOW, GRAB YOU LEFT ANKLE WITH BOTH YOUR HANDS! You're going to stay that way until the cops get here.

Sirens wailed in the distance rapidly approaching, barely slowed by the construction traffic. The first Dodge Charger police cruiser screeched to a halt in front of Brad's Ram Pick-up, just as the unmistakable red and white ARR helicopter came over the store at tree-top level. None other then Chief Boatswain's Mate (ret.) Mike Harris was dangling out the pinned open side door cradling an immaculately kept M-60 7.62mm machine gun. Behind him was Luke, in full tactical gear, with a modified M-4 carbine across his chest. Now normally, a civilian aircraft must be unarmed by law, but there happens to be a loop-hole, ARR works closely with the US Coast Guard, US DEA, BATF, US Border Patrol, Immigration and Naturalization, and US Homeland Security on interdiction and enforcement of maritime law. Knowing the character, training, and caliber (so to speak) of the men, these agencies turned a blind eye on the rare occasion when arms were needed for other purposes, such as now. Besides, a gunship gives a regular cop a warm fuzzy feeling as back-up, as long as it's on his side.

County sheriff's deputy Samuel Hardy climbed out of his cruiser, H & K USP .45 ACP in one hand, three sets of hand cuffs in the other.

Pissed in the wrong bowl of Wheatie's, didn't you fellas?

As four more cruisers pulled up, surrounding the scene from various angles, Brad lowered his side arm and placed it back under the console from which he had easily drawn it. Hitting the right combination of buttons to cancel the distress signal, Brad picked up the hand microphone.

One-Zero-One, Dispatch. PD on scene, scene secure, Air-One can RTB.

Ten-Four, One-Zero-One. PD On scene, Air-One return to base.

Air-One Copies, returning to base.

Putting the microphone back in its rack, Brad turned to the police officers, who were finishing searching the last attacker and herding him into the back of a cruiser.

Sorry about the extra paperwork, guys, but I figured you were bored!

With the likes of you around how could we ever be bored?

Lieutenant Dennis James, the shift supervisor for the local police department, had left the shooting range just for this call. He even still wore his red jacket with INSTRUCTOR emblazoned front and back.

Damn, DJ, I didn't know you could teach. I though you sat around all day, eating doughnuts!

Hey, if I don't watch my figure, no one else will! So, how's your mom?

Oh, she's good, driving dad nuts now that they're both retired. How's the wife?

Pregnant^Å eight months and counting, isn't that a pisser? Anyway, starting from the beginning, what exactly happened here?

If I knew, you think we'd be here? Seriously though^Å

Brad went on in as much detail as he could. Dennis took notes, stopping Brad to ask questions every once in a while. Finally they got to the point were Dennis had arrived just after Deputy Hardy handcuffed the first of the men.

Well, I think that about takes care of it for now. I will, of course, need a signed statement; you can just drop it by the station later.

Don't worry; I'll do that as soon as I get home. Can I go now; my ice cream is starting to soften?

Brad waved goodbye to his childhood friend, promising to pass a hello along to his parents on Dennis' behalf. Ten minutes later, Brad was pulling into the driveway, Luke had beaten him home.

HEY! YOU BUM! Get out here and help me with these groceries!

Promise not to shoot me?

Luke came out the door from the screened in porch, grabbed two bags, kissed Brad lightly on the lips.

You ok, babe?

Better then most, a lot better the some, and you?

Fine, now^Å didn't know what to think when your trucks' EPIRB went off.

Yeah, well, I'll tell you all about it at the station, after we put these groceries away, I have to write a statement, and I don't want to have to repeat myself a hundred times.

I wouldn't think so. Come on.

Off into the house Luke went. The two men made short work of putting everything away, and then took Brad's truck down to the station.

There he is! Captain Courage himself! Single handedly stomping out crime!

Bite me, Chief!

No way! You'd like it!

That got a round of laughs from everyone. As he sat at the computer to write his statement, Brad proceeded to regale the others with the story of his afternoon.

You know, that button worked great, I wouldn't have wanted to have been standing there alone much longer. They're in all the trucks right, Chief Harris?

Yeah, except the new kids', he's getting a new vehicle soon, so I decided to hold off on installing a radio.

Ok, good. I want all our radios to have a distress button linked to an Emergency Position Indicating Rescue Beacon from now on. I've got a feeling this won't be the last time one of us needs help in a hurry. Questions? No? Good, then get back to work, what am I paying you for, to just hang around?

As the guys went about their various daily station duties, Brad picked up the phone and punched the number one speed dial.

Dispatch, can I help you?

Hey, Virgil, it's Brad. How did the EPIRB work?

Man, I about jumped out of my skin when it went off! The gong went off, my screen flashed red, and you position came right up immediately. I tried you once on the radio, like I'm supposed to, and when you didn't answer, I sent in the cavalry. My asshole brother got there first?

Virgil Hardy was half of a set of twins that Mrs. Hardy had the steel resolve to raise. Just barely on the right side of the law as kids, Virgil and Samuel Hardy had given their mother each and every one of the grey hairs on her head. Fortunately their antics had never injured anyone severely, nor landed anyone in too much trouble. While Samuel was rising in the ranks quickly with the Sheriffs' office, Virgil had joined the US Coast Guard as a Search and Rescue Swimmer, through which he had met Brad, but was now stuck driving a desk. While on leave in Puerto Rico, Virgil and his crew had come across a car accident. The car was hanging off a guardrail with a little girl trapped, unconscious, inside. Doing what came natural, Virgil and his crew attempted to secure the vehicle as best they could, and rescue the child. With no real equipment and the car teetering, Virgil had climbed in and had no more then passed the girl out the window to another Coast Guardsman when the car slid. The sudden movement pitched Virgil out through the shattered rear window and onto the ground behind the car. For a moment it appeared the car had settled on its trunk, then it continued downhill flipping end over end. Virgil couldn't move fast enough. The roof rolled over both his legs, crushing his left femur and severing his right leg just below the knee. Quick attention by a US Navy Corpsman, who had also happened by, is the only thing that saved Virgil's life. Now with a titanium shaft in place of his femur and a stump; a prosthetic knee, lower leg, and foot when he felt like wearing it; in place of his right leg, Virgil was considered unfit for duty. He received an early discharge, in good standing, with medical pension from the Coast Guard, and had gone to work as a dispatcher for ARR the day after his discharge came through.

Yeah, he did. Was glad to see him! Well, I just called to make sure everything worked; I've got a bunch of paperwork to do now. Don't be too surprised to see more activations, I don't think this is the last we'll hear from those guys.

Thank you for reading at least this far. This has is my first story I have been confident enough of to post online. Feedback and comments are welcome, however if you feel the need to flame I will, as the firefighter I am, assume that you are on fire and take appropriate action comenserate with my training. Also, I apologize to those of you reading this story from outside the United States. Depending on your country of origin, I may or may not reply to your comments for security reasons. Thank you again. Merman_Resq@yahoo.com

Next: Chapter 14


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